Withering Wishes
by Mrs Bella Riddle
Summary: Longing to escape the monotonous life of a useless society wife, Bellatrix wished for nothing more than to join the Dark Lord. However, when her wish was granted, unpredictable events transpire. One 'man' was the cause. Based on a Greek Myth. B/V & B/R
1. Gazing Upon a God

Hello again time for another multi-chapter fic. More information is at the bottom.

* * *

It was a battle. One stood strong and the other glared back with dark eyes into murky depths. It was a challenge that had presumably lasted an age. It was an inevitable standoff that erupted around this time every day. Would one give in to outside pressure and submit to the other?

Today Bellatrix would.

Reclining on the extravagant Queen Anne bed, Bellatrix Lestrange stared and fumed at the tall dark antique wardrobe that had allegedly been in the Lestrange family for generations. For hundreds of years it had served as the storage area for the clothes of so many Lestrange wives before her. Every day it would be their life; they would have no other job than choosing what exquisite garment they would wear when they rose from bed, when they took their walk, when they had tea with the ladies and when they ventured down for dinner.

It was seemingly all a wife had to do.

From birth, Bellatrix had been raised as a pretty and proper pureblood woman. It was her duty to marry and birth her husband's heir. She did have some choice over who her husband was, but the pool of possible candidates was low and Rodolphus Lestrange was at least acceptable. Now she had achieved a marriage it seemed motherhood was her next task, though first she had to present herself as the dainty doting wife.

She tried. Sometimes she tried harder than others. Sometimes she woke greeted her husband as he left, had tea with his mother and sister and dressed in the most elaborate and feminine robes that the wardrobe stocked to greet him for dinner.

Some days.

On other days she snapped. Her patience for the game was low and often she hardly bothered playing. Sometimes she did not even flinch as her husband rose in the morning, she stayed in bed to midday, she avoided his family and, to spite them all, the only clothes she wore was the dullest and most crumpled.

It seemed all it ever came down to. It was not to say Bellatrix did not have any other desires or wishes, but each was as unlikely as the last and, instead, she was left to the inevitable and to rot like every other pureblood wife.

Growling in frustration, she rose rapidly and grabbed one of the dresses as she yanked the robes that were not even dirty over her head. Pulling the new emerald green dress on, she shot a brief look at her appearance; her hair was loose and messy, her dress was creased and her expression was hard and stony. Concluding it was good enough, she turned on her heel and left for the dining room.

If they did not like it, then she did not care.

* * *

They did not like her appearance.

As Bellatrix stepped into the impeccably set and arranged Lestrange Dining Room, she was greeted by the complete set of her husband's immediate family; Her mother in law Persephone, her father in law Reginald, her sister in law Rosaline and her brother in law Rabastan. In addition, it seemed the queer uncle, who appeared and disappeared at odd moments, had joined the party.

As she entered, the universal gaze of the table was upon her. Persephone's clear blue eyes, that her son had inherited, flicked up and down Bella's hair that was not brushed and her face that was free from make-up as she made judgements in a way that mimicked Bella's mother. The only different was Persephone had the sense to keep her mouth shut.

"Good evening Bellatrix," she greeted crisply as Bella walked along the table to take her position next to Rodolphus. "It is good to see you dressed and ready for dinner."

"Of course, how could I not make such arrangements for such wonderful company?" Bella hit back with a sweet sarcastic tone as she flicked her eyes to Rodolphus. "Hello husband."

Unlike the rest of the family, Rodolphus did not seem bothered by her appearance. It was probably as he knew she had at least made an effort and, for Bellatrix, that was an achievement in itself.

"Good evening, Bella," he greeted softly his lips almost betraying himself and breaking into a smile before he presumably quashed the urge. "How was your day?"

On more than one occasion she had berated him about what a foolish question that was when she did nothing worthwhile, but today she did not have the energy. "Fine," she said sully as she turned to her meal. There was no point.

Like she did every night, she ate her meal in silence and tried not to sigh.

What was the point of any of this frustrating situation? A frustrating mother in law was one thing, but Rodolphus did not help matters. It was not that he annoyed her; he was just nothing. He was polite, but he was cold. No matter how she tried to rile him up, he remained impassive and aloof. The only time he displayed anything was when they were alone and he tried to show her affection.

It was not what she wanted.

More than one she had tried to annoy him to get a rise out of him. She had smashed and tossed his things everywhere, but he had only silently ordered an elf to fix everything. She had screamed at him, but he had barely looked up from his book. She had grabbed him by the collar of his robes, slapped and hissed at him while she rode him to her own pleasure, but his only reaction was to reach climax with her.

All in all, life as a Lestrange was nothing.

After dinner, Bellatrix was left to prowl the halls of the manor with no purpose other than to pace her frustrations on the marble Lestrange floors, Bella's mind was full of those angry thoughts as she snarled and hissed at any of the portraits that dared to raise a voice to her. Thankfully no living Lestranges dared bother her.

It was only a small concession.

Rounding the corner that contained Rodolphus' study, she pounded down the corridor like it was just another location. Her eyes flicked upon the light trailing from within the study and she heard soft voices, yet she was completely uninterested.

That was until she drew closer and she could decipher the conversation.

"Are you sure Uncle?" Rodolphus said in a voice that was filled with more eagerness than Bella had ever heard. Only a few feet from the partially open study door, it stopped her in her tracks. He sounded like a completely different man.

"Without a doubt." The gruff voice of Rufus Lestrange answered swiftly and decisively. "I can assure you this is the man you want to put your faith in. I have served him for more than thirty years and I have never regretted it. I can assure you this is the man who will finally forge society into how it should be."

"I know. I have seen the reports in the Prophet, yet a paper is often such a useless source."

"It is at least partially true. The power they hint at is correct. The stories about the muggles and mudbloods he has killed are accurate. However, they miss references to his greatness."

"And the Dark Lord is great?"

"He is."

Standing in the dimly lit hallway, Bellatrix almost toppled over in shock. The Dark Lord? _The _Dark Lord? They were speaking about him. The most pleasant shiver erupted through her spine as she crept closer.

As soon as the tales of the Dark Lord had started seeping into the newspapers, she had lapped them up eagerly. She had always known purebloods should be at the pinnacle of society and mudbloods crushed, yet no one had ever really acted. He was the man who was doing that. He should be supported to the upmost.

He was not.

When she was only fifteen she had commented that the Blacks should provide him with more support. Her suggestion had been rebuffed. She had been told the Blacks did not place their fortunes on a mere chance and that, as a woman, it was certainly not her place to bother about politics.

It had not stopped her. For years she searched for any kind of information or any man who would bring her to the Dark Lord.

She had never found any.

Her gender had ensured that at every point doors were shut to her.

Now another was open.

"I am not one to take chances." Rodolphus' voice said as Bella continued to listen. "I do not doubt your words, but I need to meet the man."

"I understand, though if you see him, it would not be wise to reject admission to his ranks."

"I still want to see him."

It was one of the rare occasions Bellatrix genuinely felt proud of her husband. Moving into a crouch position, she smiled as all possibilities drifted into her mind.

"Then I shall arrange a meeting. I will let you know when it will be and then you can see him."

Now the possibilities engulfed her.

As she slowly found her feet again and moved up to the room she shared with Rodolphus, an uncharacteristically bright smile lit her features.

She knew what she would do.

When Rodolphus went to visit Lord Voldemort he would not go alone.

This opportunity would not escape her.

She would join the Dark Lord.

* * *

It was easier than she would have thought. For all of Rodolphus' faults, she had always assumed he was intelligent.

He did not display it that night.

Ever since she had eavesdropped on his conversation with his uncle, she had been waiting for this moment. He had to venture out late one night and, when he did, she would join him, with or without his permission or knowledge.

It was that night. She had spotted Rodolphus wearing dark robes that were plainer and more plebeian than what he normally wore and she was sure this meant the moment was upon her. She did not bother dressing in similar robes, but merely followed closely behind as he excited their room, the manor and final the manor grounds.

With a Disillusionment charm hiding her and keeping her distance in the dark shadows she was not visible. She stayed that way until Rodolphus stepped out of the manor grounds and prepared to apparate. Leaping forward, she grabbed the trail of his robes before he could leave. Like she had hoped, the sensation of apparition filled her as she was pulled along.

The bright lights of apparition vanish to reveal a clearing. There was nothing there except for tall trees bordering a clear patch of earth and stifling silence.

Bellatrix half expected Rodolphus would have felt someone holding onto his robes, but his hooded face was just its usual blank canvas and presumably he had felt nothing. He only stood quietly and waited. She did the same.

She did not know how long she waited. She was a bundle of nerves which caused time to stretch on and on. She was not scared of the Dark Lord. She only feared this was a lie and he would not appear.

Leaning back against the tree with heavily lidded eyes that were half open, it would have been very easy for her to miss it, but her eyes spotted a figure stepping out from the trees.

Rodolphus did too.

Both Lestranges did nothing as the figure of Lord Voldemort emerged from the darkness. Wrapped in black robes that made him blend into the background, the only thing that shone out were pale long fingered hands and a face that was as white as snow. It was like a master craftsman had etched it out from marble. The cheekbones and proportions were all correct, but somehow something had gone wrong. Perhaps the art work had touched fire as his features were strangely blurry and his eyes bloodied.

Bellatrix did not care. Her heart leapt higher than it had ever done in her life. Her original plan had been to reveal herself to the Dark Lord from the beginning, but, with only the merest sight of him, she was frozen and unable to move.

"Rodolphus Lestrange," The Dark Lord said softly in a cold and crisp voice that carried so much power that Bella felt her entire body quiver. "Rufus Lestrange informs me you wished to see me."

For his part Rodolphus at least seemed calm. His posture remained firm, though his gaze was downcast in respect and, from Bella's angle, his eyes also seemed unusually thoughtful. "I did, my Lord. I wish to join you."

When Rodolphus had spoken to his uncle, he had indicated he had been unsure about whether to join, but presumably all of that uncertainty had disappeared. Bella may have viewed that as a positive if she was not so distracted by the Dark Lord.

The carefully crafted lips of the Dark Lord twitched slightly upwards as he drew closer to Rodolphus. It made her aware how tall he was; Rodolphus himself was about six foot tall, but the Dark Lord seemed over half a foot taller. His powerful presence only seemed to enhance that fact.

In no time at all, in a strangely graceful and silent walk, the Dark Lord stopped only a few inches from Rodolphus. "Look at me."

Rodolphus did as required.

From the sidelines Bellatrix watched as her husband and the Dark Lord stared at each other for several long moments. Minutes seemed to flicker by, but, from her perspective nothing seemed to happen. Time itself just seemed to eat away. When it was finally over the Dark Lord stepped back with confidence and Rodolphus moved backwards with footsteps that were now shaky.

"I think you will be an asset to the ranks, Mr Lestrange," the Dark Lord said calmly with the same eerie and composed smirk. "You will join and you will serve, but for now leave. I will send you orders when I require you."

It was quicker than Bellatrix ever expected. It was all over in such a quick flash of time and Rodolphus was apparating away from the area.

Still half frozen, Bellatrix wanted to scream and cry at the possibility that she had lost the chance of a lifetime.

Then she realised the Dark Lord was still there.

Standing in the middle of the clearing, he smirked to himself and, instead of staring into the distance, his dark bloodied eyes were fixated on her figure that was still under the Disillusionment charm.

The hand around her heart tightened and her breathing came into shuddering rasps that he must have been able to hear as he approached her one deliberately slow step at a time. Inside she was panicking unsure of what to do. All rational thoughts seemed to abandon her as she was rooted to the spot.

Finally, only a few inches away, the Dark Lord stopped; his lips still curled up into a smile and his eyes burrowed into hers.

Like looking into a basilisk she, could not turn away.

One long fingered hand lifted from the Dark Lord's side and stretched towards her. She did not even consider moving away as it lightly touched her temple. It was cool and a tingling feeling settled through her body as the Disillusionment charm was lifted by an impressive show of wandless magic.

That was not what she was focusing on: The feeling of his skin against hers increased the trembles that engulfed her body.

Finally he spoke to her. "It is quite a pleasure to meet you Mrs Lestrange." He did not sound at all annoyed. In fact, he seemed to be in a pleasant mood, though she doubted she could ever presume to guess his emotions.

Bellatrix had never seen anyone converse with the Dark Lord (other than her husband a moment ago), yet pure instinct surged through her, or perhaps it was just her trembling legs that had given out, for whatever reason she fell face forward onto her hands and knees. All the while she did not break eye contact with him.

"My Lord," she murmured reverently as she could only imagine that was the way to treat a man like this. She was never one to be subservient, but he had changed her entire mannerisms. While she had never been religious, there was god like present about him. "My Lord I cannot even describe what it means to be in your presence. I am sorry for coming to you by tricks but I-"

Her rambling was stopped as he merely lifted one of his hands. She fell quite immediately and did not even consider uttering a word.

"Join me and all will be forgiven."

Staring up at him with wide eyes Bellatrix swore she had misheard or she was dreaming for surely her dreams could not be fulfilled with such ease.

"My- my Lord," she stuttered in shock. "There would be no greater honour, but I-"

Again she was cut off.

"No buts," he snapped like a clear cut through meat. "I do not need to ask you any questions or conduct any tests for I know. Lord Voldemort already knows. From even the briefest glance at you, I can see your devotion and, flickering across the barest surface of your mind I know your potential. You will join me. You will go onto become my most faithful and my most feared follower."

Bellatrix entire face was lit up in a wild and passionate grin. "Yes!" she exclaimed with joy. "Yes! I will Master. I will."

He was right.

She had never heard anything so sweet.

* * *

As well, you will also notice this fic is not exactly how I normally write the characters; Bella is married before she joins the Death Eaters, slightly less rebellious about being a pureblood wife and Voldemort's comparison to a god status in Bella's eyes is enhanced (yes that is a hint about the myth and is not meant to be anti-religious merely to reflect the thoughts of fanatical Bella). However, mostly this is just another version of my extensive head canon that I have a chance to utilise. In case you are wondering, my head canon also includes the presence of a Lestrange sister and that a Lestrange uncle was the man who was at Hogwarts with Voldemort.

I think that is about it. At present the fic will be about 7 chapters. I'm actually very proud of the fic and, in my opinion, I think the quality of the writing is actually better than my previous fics. Please enjoy and feel free to offer speculations about what you think will happen.


	2. In the Hands of a God

No one could ever say Bellatrix was a woman gifted or blessed with high levels of moral righteousness, but even she had standards and lines she would not cross.

The pureblood marriage was how society was forged. From it the foundations were laid for great alliances, children were taught the correct behaviour and pureblood babies were born. She had never been the most enthusiastic defender of the institution, though that did not mean she did not appreciate the idea.

At present, it was difficult to not just take a hammer to the entire notion.

The Dark Mark upon her arm was only a few weeks fresh and she already felt her self-control wavering. Positioned as one of twenty hooded and masked figures in a circle of Death Eaters, Bellatrix was at least no longer trembling as she stood in the Dark Lord's presence while he recited careful and precise orders. Her body may no longer have shook, but every time she was near him it felt alive. It was like there were magnets inside her urging her forward towards her Master.

She was finding it difficult to resist.

Cautiously, she flicked her eyes to the man beside her.

Rodolphus was as hooded and masked as she was. They were completely anonymous in the circle except she was partially given away by her feminine curves that distinguished her from the masses. Unlike her, Rodolphus had his eyes respectfully lowered and only looked up when the Dark Lord spoke directly to him. That was a rare occurrence since the pair were only new members of the fold and their position in the ranks was low.

He knew she was beside him. After she had been dismissed from the Dark Lord's presence for the first time, she had confessed to her husband that she had followed him. She could have hidden it quite easily, but buzzing from the experience she needed to tell someone. She knew he had been annoyed about her lies and tricks. He may have commented further, but she had been brimming with energy. The grin on her features was infectious and, after she had told her husband she was happy she had finally found a purpose in her life, he was rendered silent. It probably helped that she had then proceeded to kiss him passionately, throw him onto the bed and had allowed him to make love to her for several hours.

That was where the problems started.

She had sworn loyalty to the Dark Lord and she knew his power was infectious. She wanted to worship and serve him, but it was dawning on her that, the feelings she had perceived as mere attraction to his awe inspiring presence, were something completely different.

It was wrong on so many levels. He was the Dark Lord. He was a god in her eyes and was deserving of nothing less than complete worship; not foolish notions of lust or worse. Moreover, she was a married woman. Rodolphus had his many flaws, but loyalty dictated that she stand by him.

That was at least what she tried was telling herself.

It had not stopped her thoughts.

Watching the godly Dark Lord move gracefully around the circle with an impressive tug on everyone's complete attention, she could not tear her eyes away from his impressive frame and face. Others may have viewed his appearance as hideous, but, to her, it only increased the emphasise on his power and his greatness that ascended any notions of humanity.

It did not ease her traitorous thoughts.

His long fingers caressed the pale handle of his wand as he spoke and she was left to imagine what they would feel like over her body. They would run along her curves, they would sink into the side of her waist, pin her up against a tree, wall or his bed with more power than his thin frame should possess. Then his so very long fingers would tweak her nipples and slide down to the area between her legs and have her moaning for hours.

As she watched his lips slowly and deliberately pronounce every word with precision, rolling off r's and sliding over s's, she could occasionally see the occasionally flick of his pink and very human tongue. She could only imagine what that tongue would do in her mouth, over her body and inside her.

Pacing the circle, bloodied eyes flicked over to her, the black eyes in her mask stared at the Dark Lord as if in a trance. The look he gave her was curt, direct and knowledgeable.

As her face flushed pink and the tingling between her legs intensified, she had never been more grateful that she was wearing a mask and thick robes.

His gaze turned from her after a moment, but long after it had, her mind was filled with the reflection of his dark bloodied eyes.

The meeting was drawing to a close. It should have been the end of Bella's exquisite torture. She should have been able to allow Rodolphus to tug her from the unyielding pull of the Dark Lord and take her to bed where she could pretend the lust that had built within her was only produced by her husband.

That was not the case today.

As the Dark Lord waved his hand and dismissed the ranks of his loyal disciples, he did not leave; instead he stood to the side and watched as if he knew something no one else knew. Some of the Death Eaters noticed his continued presence, but most being older and more experienced with the peculiarities of their Lord's character, did not stop to linger on the behaviour.

Bellatrix did.

With her Master still in the clearing and the tug hard and fast having been intensified by her enlarged period of lust and godly fantasies, she was not sure how could ever bring herself to leave. Even Rodolphus' grip on her arm did nothing as she was rooted to the spot by tight ropes forged by obsession.

"Come on, Bella," he murmured softly and quietly in her ear so no one else could hear the mention of their names and identities. "It is time to go."

She could not.

He was staring at her.

Eyes that she had assumed had once been pure dark midnight blue which were now flecked in veins and bordered by piercing red, had turned their gaze so they were locked onto her that pocked out from her mask and hood. The ragged breathing was back and, caught in such a trap, even with the insistent pull of her husband, she could never escape.

They were soon the only three people (if their Lord could be attributed to such an inappropriately normal term) left in the forest clearing.

"Rodolphus," The Dark Lord said softly in his crisp tone, "leave us. I have matters I need to discuss with your wife."

There was the brief doubt and hesitation of a man agreeing to leave his beautiful wife with another man, though it only lasted a fraction of the second until, Bellatrix assumed, logic and awareness of the greatness of the Dark Lord won.

"Of course, my Lord," Rodolphus said obediently as he released Bella's arm and apparated away without a word.

She was left alone with her Lord again for the first time since she had been admitted to the ranks.

It seemed to take down a wall in her uncontrollable fantasies that still persisted to fly to the forefront of her mind. She attempted to bat them away, but it was like trying to move a boulder with a tennis racket and the only thing that it achieved was breaking her racket and her resolve.

He drew closer. Instead of waiting to the side, step by step he crossed the clearing and, in the briefest flash of a second, he was again standing before her.

Still, neither party spoke.

Bella's breathing was harsh and rattling, her face was sweaty under her mask and her hands kept fisting and tightening in her woollen cloak. She could not look away and, with wide eyes, she stated mesmerised up at her Lord.

The thumping of her heart pumped out more and more outrageous ideas as the time and silence extended. Only her brain occasionally operated whispering possibilities and rationality. A doubt started to appear that he knew exactly what she was thinking. It would not be against his skills.

It caused panic to appear. Her thoughts were so outrageous they were practically treasonous.

Could he really know? What would he do if he did know?

"I do," Her glorious Master spoke out loud in a calm voice, even as his lips curled up into the briefest flick of a pleased expression. "Nothing can be hidden from Lord Voldemort."

Like she had been thrown into a wall, everything suddenly flared into panic and metaphoric pain. The smallest whimper escaped her as she collapsed to her knees. Tears almost sneaked out from her eyes, but she held them in. She had wronged him and he knew of her sin.

"My Master I- I'm sorry for my improper thoughts," she mumbled her face directed at the ground as she could not bear to see his anger and disappointment. "My Lord I know how outrageous they are. I know they are foolish and wrong. I know it is a monstrosity upon you to think that way and I-"

"It is not," the Dark Lord declared softly with little emotion as he cut through her ramblings.

On the ground, her body froze. She must have misheard. How could such words ever escape her majestic Lord?

"My Lord?" she murmured in reverence chancing a glance through her thick eyelashes at her Master.

He had not moved. Standing tall like a mountain, he stared down at her with only the smallest upwards twist on his lips marring the blank canvas.

"There is no harm in your thoughts, Bella," he said casting his lips over her pet name. "For you see they only constitute another way for you to serve your Master."

"But I- I am married, my Lord," she answered softly surprising herself by her declaration. In her desire for her Master the fact tended to disappear, but, somehow, it had slithered into life again. It seemed the right thing to say. Wasn't that the other reason for hesitating with her desires?

"I am aware." His lips curled even further upwards and he did not seem at all bothered by her marital status. "Stand."

In her haste to obey, she almost toppled face first in the dirt, but she caught herself and found her feet with unstable limbs. She did not say anything, but waited for him to speak

"You see, Bella, I know all. I know you believe you should be faithful to your husband and it is to your credit character that you retain that knowledge, but you fail to grasp what this means. I know how you think and I know how everything will eventuate. I know how deep you desire goes. I know it is uncontrollable and unyielding, but, my dear Bella, that does not matter."

He paced around her; his close presence sending jolts through her body. She could only stand there like putty waiting for his well trained hands.

"As what is Rodolphus? Another servant. He should serve just as you should. In the same way you should not feel ashamed about feeling a desire to serve me, your husband should not feel ashamed about allowing you to serve. Correct?"

Like a puppet she nodded along. "Yes, my Lord," she said obediently, the words feeling oddly comforting in her mouth. She wanted to believe him. It seemed to galvanise all her thoughts; an affair with him could not be wrong nor was did she desire anything more than serving him. Yes that was what she thought. Wasn't it?

"Good girl," he praised softly as he paused behind her. She could not see him and she did not dare turn around without his order. Instead she stood like a statue.

Very delicately she felt the gentlest tug on her hood. It was pulled from head and slipped to hang below her neck. She could feel the night breeze rippling her waves of black hair and goose pimples erupting at the thought it had been his hands on her that had taken off a piece of her clothing. It did not matter that it was only a hood.

He moved again.

In two more precise strides he was in front of her.

It seemed he had finished talking.

Both of his large majestic hands stretched out. She felt his fingers cup her chin and neck. They should have felt cool, but, instead, they sent waves of fire through her body.

The other hand slid higher. Two fingers hooked up under her mask brushing against the soft skin of her cheek and the lingering wetness from sweat and tears.

The grip was powerful and it easily slid up the mask exposing her face to breeze. Lifting it, she felt the band brush her hair up before it was free and tossed carelessly onto the ground.

Her face liberated from any constraints was able to stare at his majestic might unshielded. Her thoughts were slow distracted and focused solely on him.

Skilfully the hand that had removed her mask, returned to her face. Slowly and tentatively, they moved over the contours of her well crafted cheekbones and paused for a moment to tug her lips downwards slightly. His fingers then passed over his other hand on her chin and moved to the low cut of her robes at her chest.

For a moment that seemed frozen in time, his hand remained there slipping over her cleavage, but not disappearing any further.

The impact for Bella was still profound.

Caught in the grasp of his chin she could not look at anywhere but his face, though that would never issue any complaints from her. She was clammy and flushed and any attempts at self control failed. He may have any only removed her hood and mask, though the entire process was feeling more erotic than anything she had ever experienced in her life. The sheer presence and knowledge of his identity, was to ensure that was the case.

Then, he moved again.

His fingers brushed against the first button of her roves and clinically slid it from its hole. It popped out gently exposing the lace of her black bra, but her Lord barely seemed to consider it as he moved onto the second button. It was released just as easily and the band of her bra was removed. The next button was attacked and her stomach was revealed. It did not stop until the full expanse of her pale flat stomach was revealed and her robe was undone to her waist.

Still clinically calm like he was writing a paper, the Dark Lord only savoured her for the barest fraction of a second as he returned to the upper part of her body. The hand that had held her chin moved. As both his hands moved to opposite collarbones it left a lingering feeling of fire as the Dark Lord patiently pushed her robe from her arms until it slid off completely and pooled at her feet.

The shuddering gasp that she had been trying to hide escaped. She was not worried about being left in her bra and underwear in the cool night air before her Lord, but the feeling of unworthiness was there at every brush of his fingers. It was only escalated by the uncontrollable longing. It was so hard to keep her hands at her side, though she did since she was well aware of how wrong it would be to touch her godly Lord without permission.

His eyes flicked back to her face. Immediately, she felt the colour in her cheeks darken at the display of her weakness and her interruption, but that only last for a moment as the Dark Lord stepped closer. She felt the tendrils of his robes brush against her naked flesh and the sheer power of his presence was overwhelming. Her fingers twitched and brushing against his robe, but that was the only way she allowed herself to touch him.

From the close presence he watched her. His eyes did not leave until those lips she had longed for reached forward and touched her own.

For the smallest fraction of a moment it was soft. It was tentative as if the Dark Lord was only teasing or he was testing the waters. The test however was only brief before he intensified the contact crushing his lips over hers. She worried momentarily if she should respond, but her body answered before her brain and matched the movement against his mouth as she opened her lips to him the very definition of a willing submissive partner. His cool tongue penetrated her mouth and she moaned despite herself as hands were somehow on her waist pulling her flush against the Dark Lord. She could feel the sharp jutting bones in his thin body and the coldness of his flesh even from beneath robes.

It was over just as quickly as it started.

Seemingly as if the Dark Lord had controlled himself, he pulled his lips from hers and took a step away.

Her gaze was desperate willing him back.

His lips did not return but his hands did.

Slipping over her body they slithered down to her bra unclipping it with ease. Now slightly more aware, she did not wait for his hand but tugged the material off and onto the dirt herself. Her nipples shone out hard against the air, but it was not her Lord's goal and he continued.

A loud gasp escaped her as his hands reached down for her underwear. With both hands he crooked his fingers into the side of her hips and pulled them down until they slid all the way to the floor.

Left completely naked before him with her eyes wide and lips parted, she waited for him to act. He stood back and swept his eyes up and down her as if he was examining a prized catch. She felt nervous being under the microscope, but she still waited unit he made the next move.

He did.

Striding forward and closing the distance again his lips slammed against hers in a brutal dominance that would probably bruise her lips, but she could hardly think of that when her Lord's hands were all over her.

Moaning she allowed her Lord to push her down onto the forest clearing.

She allowed him to do whatever he desired.


	3. A God's Work

Onto chapter three. I would not normally write a plot like this, but remember this is based on a Greek Myth. You might have some very small hints this time about what myth it is.

* * *

Bellatrix had never felt like this returning home before.

She had left on the arm of her husband; carefully groomed with crisp black robes, her hair neatly pinned out of her eyes, her makeup meticulously applied and a hood and mask hiding her identity.

However, now she was alone. Creeping into the Entrance Hall as quietly as she could, her hair was in tangles, her makeup was running down her face, her robe were barely done up and her mask was missing.

She found it difficult to care. Her mind was only filled with images and flashes of the hours she had spent in her Lord's arms.

Avoiding the stairs, she strode towards one of the sitting room and crumpled into one of the armchairs where she sat for several long hours engulfed in her thoughts and memories.

* * *

Despite her original lack of tact and caution, she eventually did rise from her chair, shower and hide any hint of her wrong doings. Rodolphus only knew she had participated in a mission for her Lord.

Even if he knew the truth, he would have no reason to complain. He was the Dark Lord and he should be honoured. It did not matter that she was in the Dark Lord's bed and not her husband's

It was after several weeks that she became aware something was wrong. It only started out as a strange thought; she was late. She was normally fairly regular, but a week late was nothing to worry about and passed by without her notice.

When she was two weeks late she started to became aware that something was not right. Trying to keep a brave face some truly amusing thoughts drifted into her mind, but she laughed them all off thoroughly entertained by the notion that the Dark Lord could make an error or be so mortal. The tenderness of her breasts and the three times she vomited that week without explanation did not alter her view.

When the third week came around and her symptoms seemed to have increased rather than decreased she bit the bullet and abandoned all her previous doubts. Already suspecting what answer she would receive, she visited a Healer.

* * *

It was difficult to keep herself composed as she apparated into Lestrange Manor with the news she had received at the forefront of her mind. The words _'pregnant, pregnant, pregnant', _seemed to repeat over and over like a depressing and disturbing mantra. No matter what she tried she could not remove the thoughts from her mind. After visiting the Healer, she had gone to see her sisters, but that hardly helped.

She did not need to be told the positives of her pregnancy. She wanted to forget them all. Now all she wanted to do was sleep. She was more exhausted then she had been. Maybe, when she woke up, it would be a dream or she would at least be more prepared to face the news and plan what she would do.

She did not get that opportunity.

Just as she reached the top of the Lestrange Grand Staircase, she was stopped by the figure of her husband.

"Bellatrix," he said his face hard and stony though his features flicked and twitched as if he was trying to hide something. "You're finally home."

"I am," she replied with little care as she walked past him and down the corridor.

She could not deal with her husband, yet it seemed she did not have a choice.

"I know where you have been," he called after her in the same blank voice. She increased her pace trying to avoid him, but he continued striding behind her admittedly at a slower pace. "I know who you have seen."

"Have you taken to stalking your wife?" she snarled as she continued to walk as if she was trying to outrun her fate. She wanted to believe he was lying and he did not know the truth.

"You went to a Healer."

That made her stop. Twisting on her heel, she turned and glared fire at him from his position at the other end of the corridor. "So?"

In the light from the candles on the walls the shadows seemed to play off the strong bone structure of her husband making him appear oddly eerier, but she refused to be beaten or threatened by anyone. "She told you that you were pregnant." Before he could even finish she was walking again faster than before, but his voice still carried to her. "She told you that you were five weeks pregnant. Funny I don't believe we've had sex in five weeks."

Bellatrix did not stop. Finally reaching the door of their bedroom, she wrenched it open and slammed it behind her as if she was throwing it in Rodolphus' face. It did not matter that Rodolphus had not caused the problem and that logically he had a reason to be upset. Her emotions were surging through her and there was no place for logical thoughts.

There was no logic.

The mirror was the first victim of her anger.

Before she could stop herself, a burst of light flared from her wand and slammed into the mirror. The smash was shrill and high pitched as glass burst from the surface spraying in all directions and coating the polished floor in dust.

It was only one victim.

The bedside table and the lamp on it were next as it shattered in splinters of timber and smashing of glass.

Another jet of light hit the bookcase Rodolphus was so fond of blasting some novels apart while the rest fell in a pile on the ground as the wooden shelf crumpled.

It did not help her mood. It only made her focus her turbulent emotions from the day into anger rather than the sorrow. It was easier this way to destroy everything in sight and pretend it would erase her problems.

Of course, it did not.

So caught up in her emotions and with her ears filled with bangs and smashes she did not hear the door open behind her. She did not even notice anything was amiss until a disarming spell hit her in the back causing her to stumble forward and for her wand to fling from her fingers to the other side of the room.

"You are acting like a child having a temper tantrum," Rodolphus declared as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. His face was still expressionless. "It is like you do not understand the consequences."

Fuming over the loss of her wand and her anger over the situation, she was like a tiger in a rage as she rounded on her husband. "Oh what would they be? Will you divorce me? Will I be labelled as a harlot and a whore? Will I be banished from polite society? I do not care. Leave me. All I will say is good riddance."

Her response seemed to shock her husband, but he recovered faster than she would have thought. He let out a hollow laugh that she knew what only a mask to hide his real emotions. She knew her declarations would have hurt him. It was why she had said them.

"Of course that is not all. You will have every ally of the Lestrange Family against you. Can you imagine anyone allowing such an abomination and a sign of the failures of House Lestrange to survive?"

"They can try," she snarled somehow her hand instinctively flicker to her stomach. She was not sure why; maybe because it housed a part of the Dark Lord.

Rodolphus' lips twitched into a feral smile. "Perhaps they may fail, but I know someone who will not fail."

"Who?" she questioned; the laughter in her voice highlightingher disbelief.

"The Dark Lord," her husband replied in a matter of fact tone. That caught her off guard. Her haughtiness disappeared as her eyes widened and she faltered. How did he know? "Do you not pay attention? He has already declared multiple times that he wants to be immortal. Do you think an immortal will want a child? He will only want it destroyed so it can never threaten him."

Slowly she backed away not because she was afraid of her husband, but only from the truth that was bearing down upon her and starting to suffocate her. He had to be wrong. He had to be, yet all of his words were based on fact she was aware. There was no reason the Dark Lord needed an heir

"You know nothing," she snarled despite her heart.

"I do." Rodolphus stepped closer towards and Bella swore she would bite his hand if he put it anywhere near her. Seemingly aware of the danger, Rodolphus pulled up short in front of her. "Get rid of it. Get rid of it and nothing will change. Everything will be as it should be."

It was so very tempting. One potion and all of her problems would be over. Why did she need a squealing brat? She was not her mother or Narcissa whose only job in life was to pop out and raise brats. It would be so much easier to kill it and forget about it.

However, the hand on her stomach remained and the memories of the nights with her Lord filled her brain.

It was his. It was a piece of the Dark Lord himself. It was a symbol of his divinity and power. How could she ever destroy such a thing? She had no right. Besides it would be his Heir. His son could grow to be more powerful than anyone before him except his own father. He could be more useful follower than anyone else. How could she take that away from him?

Before she could even stop herself a scene was forming before her. A son was beside her. He was five and possessed her black hair that was neatly cropped atop his head, deep blue eyes and the pointed jaw and slightly upturned nose from his father. On his shoulder was a snake and in his hand was wand firing curses despite his young age. She would present him to the Dark Lord all would be forgiven and she would be rewarded above all others.

She could not shake that image.

Flicking her eyes back to Rodolphus, she raised her chin and looked at him in determination. "No," she said firmly without any doubt.

Rodolphus did not have the same reaction. "No!" he cried. Frantically for a moment he wrung his hands in grief before he tried to pull himself together. "Don't you see what it will do. It will ruin everything. He will kill you and the child."

"Then I will leave." The words hurt her more than she thought they would as she stayed strong. "I will raise the Dark Lord's son and return to him with his perfect Death Eater."

Without saying anything else and, before she could shack her resolve, she went to the wardrobe and wrenched a heavy trunk from above. Without any order or plans she yanked he clothes from their hangers and tossed them into the empty and expandable suitcase.

"You can't," Rodolphus murmured from behind her his voice sorrowful, but she could not care. "You can't. You just can't."

"I can." Straightening up she levitated the trunk in front of her and strode past him. "Goodbye Rodolphus." She did not even turn back as she marched from the room and the house trying not to think about where she would go or what the consequences for her actions would be.

A/N- Bella just assumes it is a son because it is the Dark Lord's and because of his will the child would have to be a boy. She might be right or she might be wrong. You will have to wait and see.


	4. The Consequences of a God's Actions

The plot is really starting to move along this chapter. Again there is some inspiration from the myth so you might get some more hints.

* * *

Rodolphus had always known something was wrong. He had known that his marriage was weak and, the affection that should have existed between a husband and wife was absent. He had known that Bella did not care about him so he had never expressed the affections that lingered in his heart.

Despite that, he had not thought Bella would leave. He might have provided her with options and he might have known she did not care about him, but the final step of her leaving was incomprehensible.

Maybe if it was another woman he might have believed leaving was a possibility; it was apparently natural for woman to do anything to protect their children, but that was not what Bella was like. He had assumed she would simply get rid of it. Yes it was the Dark Lord's child, though how could that change her view towards motherhood so intensely?

Obviously it had.

It was so very clear that he meant nothing to her. He was nothing more than a man who she was forced to tolerate. He had known that before. He had known from her treatment of him and her actions, but he had assumed her feelings would change and she would finally grow to love, or at least tolerate him.

Rodolphus had never made any outward or obvious attempts to alter her feelings. He knew how she would take them so he did what he always did; watched and waited. Cold and aloof he just stayed calm.

He now regretted his decision. Perhaps if he had acted differently things might have been alright in the end. Perhaps if he had shown he cared, he might have been able to win her over.

Now everything had crumpled around him.

Joining the Death Eaters had been a wise move. It was a worthy cause and, while he had never expected his wife would join the ranks, he had not complained. He had never seen her so happy and, since he had benefitted from her happiness, he had no reason to complain. Her interest in him seemed to have increased as did her libido.

Until it had suddenly stopped.

Only a few weeks after they had joined the Dark Lord, her interest in him vanished. She pushed him away whenever he even brushed his hand against her. However, her good mood was still there. In fact it was intensified.

It was easy to suspect why.

Bellatrix was summoned more and more by the Dark Lord in private. She had suggested it was because he was teaching her the Dark Arts and she was on missions for him. He wanted to believe that. Of course the Dark Lord was a god-like man and should be trusted around his wife no matter how pretty and tempting she might have been.

He could only hold off his suspicions for so long.

She lusted after Him. He could see it in her eyes and detect it in her voice every time she mentioned Him. He even swore he heard her murmur His name in bed.

He tried to bat away his suspicions, but he was forced to conclude the inevitable when he was told by the Healer that Bella was pregnant. In that timeline the baby could not be his. It could only be another man's child; the Dark Lord's.

Perhaps if she had aborted the child and stayed everything would have been fine. It would not have been perfect but it would have been enough.

She had not.

He had been left alone.

He had been summoned by the Dark Lord when she failed to appear. He had been unwilling to offer an explanation about why she had left so he had been tortured. He had been hissed at by his Lord and his fellow Death Eaters about his failure to control his wife. As a man he should have at least been able to manage such a simple task.

He could not.

As a pureblood man he should have been able to ensure his wife would have his baby.

She was having someone else's child.

As a Lestrange he should bring glory to the family.

He had not. The story about Bella's disappearance was everywhere and he and his family were laughing stocks.

In every way he had failed.

It has been said by many that if you hold in your emotions you eventually have to let them out. That was what Rodolphus was proving at this moment.

Laying face down on the bed that had been his and Bella's, his face was buried into what had been her pillow. He could smell the tendrils of her fading presence and water leaked from his eyes. He did not loudly sob, but numbly laid face down and rested his head into the soft cushioned surface.

Every moment he lay there his self resolve disappeared.

It was not just because of his emotions.

The torture from failing to reveal Bella's location was still lingering over his body. Dozens of Cruciatus Curses had not been the only damage but slicing and bludgeoning curses had left blood leaking from his body and his ribs digging into his lungs. If he would have been healed he would have survived as the Dark Lord intended.

He could not face anyone even if he needed to be healed. He could not even face living.

He did not have the will to survive.

He had failed for the last time.

Lifting his head, his eyes drifted to a knife resting on the bedside table. The silver drew his gaze like a magnet. It was so tempting. It was glorious and majestic. His hands twitched towards it before he berated himself.

Not yet.

Instead he turned in the other direction to stare at a quill and parchment. With shaky limbs he reached towards it. Steadily he started work on a letter.

Then he could succumb to the call of the knife.

* * *

Like any boy who was at the age where his teenager years were ending, Rabastan Lestrange enjoyed his sleep. He thrived on it and being deprived of it was traumatic.

It was especially traumatic when it was halted by being woken at six in the morning by his mother.

Eyes wide he leaped back as his mother shook his shoulders roughly. "Mother," he cried with a voice that was still tainted with sleep as he pushed himself up with his arms. "What are you doing?"

His mother was normally always composed. She always had her hair perfectly pinned back, her makeup was always meticulous and she rarely revealed her emotions.

It was not the case today. Her eyes were red rimmed, her hairnet was still in place and she still wore her dressing gown.

"Come quickly," she murmured softly tugging at his arms. She seemed to struggle to compose herself and her voice sounded like she was about to burst into hysterics. "Please, come."

Swallowing down the possibilities at what could have caused such a change in his mother, he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Silently he trudged from the room. The grip on her arm was strangely tight with her nails digging into his arm. He wanted to tell her to stop, but her behaviour and appearance had zapped his resolve to speak against her.

He knew there had to be a reason behind the changes.

His anxieties only grew rose as he was pulled in the direction of his brother's room. _Rod,_ he thought try to bat away the knowing feeling at his heart. No, something couldn't be wrong with him. How could anything happen to Rod? He was the strongest man he had ever met.

The door was already open. He could see the tall, dark figure of his father.

He was quiet.

Somehow Rabastan was shaking as he stepped into the room. Immediately his nose was confronted with the smell of blood and decay. There was blood on the floor, littering the once pristine white sheets and on the body.

Whimpering Rabastan fell to his knees and crawled to the body of his brother. He was lying against the sheets, his eyes were closed, he was paler than usual and a knife and parchment were lying beside him.

His name was on it.

Gritting his teeth, his throat stung painfully in the struggle to hold back tears. Trying to distract himself he reached for the parchment.

_My Dear Rabastan,_

_I'm sorry that you have to see this or I could not say this to yourself, but it was impossible. You see this had to happen._

_I failed Rab. I failed in every way I could fail. I failed the Dark Lord, I failed Bella, I failed the family and I failed you. The family name is in disarray and it cannot go on. The Lestrange name must survive. That job goes to you now. I know you will hate it but marry and carry on the name. Pick a nice obedient girl and she can birth your son and the new Lestrange dynasty._

_Do this for me._

_There is also something else. There is something I have never told anyone but I need to tell you. There was a reason Bella left. She was pregnant, but the child was not mine. The child was the Dark Lord's. I told her to abort the child and that the Dark Lord would kill it and possibly her if she did not, but she did not listen. The Dark Lord and his unborn child meant more to her._

_I meant nothing._

_I failed to keep my wife in line and to even earn even the smallest amount of her affections._

_I failed. I failed so I cannot live like this anymore._

_Carry on the family name. You are the heir now. You will do a better job than I ever did._

_Until we meet again,_

_Your Loving Brother,_

_Rodolphus_

* * *

Bellatrix felt like had been walking in circles despite the fact she had covered a great distance. She had withdrawn a sizeable pouch full of galleons from Gringotts and she had set off on her goal.

The problem was she had not had one.

When the impulse had struck her to flee to raise her future son, she had intended to escape England. Perhaps she should could have gone somewhere in Europe, America or even Australia. However after she had her money clutched tightly in her hands, her enthusiasm had quickly evaporated. The part of her linked to her mark and her family was not focused on the notion of leaving. It just seemed to be one step too many.

So she stayed in England.

She at least had escaped London. In the countryside she had her pick of muggle houses and, once she had selected her target, it was simple to eliminate them. The notion of being in a muggle house was disgusting and she had obliterated the traces of much of their foul objects, but it at least felt safe. At least this way she only had to contend with the difficulty of cooking for herself.

Well, unless she allowed her mind to wander.

She tried to fight against it. She really did, but, as the months slipped by and her belly grew, it was hard to not reminisce. She tried to pretend she was doing this for her Lord, but, when her mark ached or whenever she looked at her stomach, she thought of him and thought of how angry he must be.

More than once she had walked half way to the door with the intention to return, but somehow she had stopped herself.

It ate at her and, as every month ticked by, her resolution was starting to slip.

She longed for the Dark Lord in every way that a person could want someone; physically, sexually, emotionally and spiritually. In those few weeks as a Death Eater, His place in her life had eclipsed everyone else and having finally found her place in the world it was painful to have it stripped away. The only thing she could do was to remind herself of her purpose- she was having the Dark Lord's son. She would raise his perfect heir and it would all be rewarded.

It was the only way she could think.

Visualising her image of her with her son in her arms and the Dark Lord beside her she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.


	5. For a God

Admittedly, on occasions, Rabastan could be as stubborn as a mule. He knew what he wanted, but motivation was difficult to harness. Often he needed some type of prodding or persuasion.

It was not the case now.

He had kept the letter.

Since he had choked back tears while his eyes had scanned the contents of the parchment, he had kept it in his possession. It was always either on his bed side table or in the pocket of his robes.

It was a burning talisman. Whenever he was upset by the loss of his brother or doubted his course of action, he would clutch the parchment tightly and mentally recite the words.

He would fulfil his brother's last wish. He was the Heir now. He would make his family proud. He would expand the family, but there was a more pressing goal that never left his mind for long.

Bellatrix.

He had been fond of his sister in law. She might have been occasionally uncouth, improper and rude, but she had been pleasant company. He had been a little weary of her because of some of the questionable ways she treated his brother, but, for all the questions he had aimed at Rodolphus, his brother had never criticised her so had never thought negatively about her.

He had obviously been wrong. She was nothing more than a pathetic whore who betrayed his brother and his family. She had fled from all her responsibilities and he had not heard from for more than six months. She had not even attended Rodolphus' funeral.

Since he had read the letter, Rabastan's anger had not yielded in the slightest and he swore he would bring Bellatrix to justice.

He just needed to find her.

He knew the Blacks were looking for her and he suspected the Dark Lord (or Death Eaters under his orders) was searching for her, but no one had been successful.

He swore he would be. He would never give up until she was dead

Then Rabastan could continue fulfilling Rodolphus' last requests.

Determined, he tied his thick woollen cloak to his neck and stepped out of Lestrange Manor. The wind was howling around him and the clouds above were black and threatening, but he would not stop. There had been some rumours of muggles being attacked up north and it was at least something to go on. There had been hundreds of false reports that had failed to uncover Bellatrix, but, even if the chance of finding her was minimal, he had to try.

Stealing himself, he clutched his wand tightly and apparated in another pointless attempt.

* * *

Outside the sky was pitch black and, inside the modest muggle home, the only light was from the candles that Bellatrix had enchanted to hang around the room. She had noticed the muggle contraptions that she knew were used for lighting, but she avoided using such devices whenever she could.

Groaning to herself, her voice echoed over the silent room and empty house as she lifted her swollen ankles onto the footstool in front of her to try and get comfortable.

It was only slightly successful. In her condition, comfort was a rare commodity. It seemed impossible to truly feel at ease. Now well into her third trimester, her stomach had grown and the baby insisted on making life hell. If it was not the weight ruining her body and causing excruciating back pains, it was the movements inside her womb and the drained and exhausted feeling that never seemed to leave.

She supposed she should not be surprised. She was carrying the Dark Lord's son. Of course he was strong and powerful and needed energy to grow.

Moving her hand to the robes she had enlarged to fit her pregnant stomach, she rested her hand where her son should be.

She had never been more thankful that she had never considered motherhood when Rodolphus would have been the father. She never would have suffered through this for him, but, for the Dark Lord, she would do anything.

She only hoped he would appreciate her devotion.

For all the months she had remained hidden, her hesitations had still been present. She still wanted to believe that the Dark Lord would be pleased when she presented him with the perfect warrior, but, if not, she had wasted years and earned the Dark Lord's ire.

She knew that ire could result in death.

Shuddering at the thought, she tried to push it away as she stared into the fire that was burning in the hearth without the aid of any wood.

It would be fine. It had to be. The Dark Lord would be pleased. His son would be a boy to be proud of and his usefulness could not be doubted.

Steeling herself with her whispers and hopes, she flicked her eyes back to the prophet before her. Every day, she always tried to find a way to find the paper. She was cut off from everything. A part from the mark on her arm that still burned occasionally, she was completely in the dark. She needed something to read and to remind herself of the war. She needed to know that the Dark Lord was out there and why the son she carried would be useful.

The Dark Lord's reaction was not her only worry. She was cautious about what would happen when she went into labour. Despite how dangerous it was, she had not consulted any healer about her condition. Other than her summations which were not based on any healer training, she had no idea if her son was healthy. At this stage she could ignore the need for a Healer.

It would not be the case when it came time to giving birth.

There was a muggle hospital in the town which she could attend fairly innocuously without alerting any of her kind, but the thought made her feel more ill than the morning sickness she had to suffer in the early stages of her pregnancy.

No muggle would touch her or the Dark Lord's son.

Instead she would have to rely on St Mungos and hope that, if she randomly appeared in the hospital and disappeared after she had her son, then she could escape any questions or people she would rather not meet.

It was her only option.

Leaning back into the lounge, she closed her eyes. She did not imagine she would sleep, but the thought of relaxing for a few minutes was enough to satisfy her.

* * *

She woke several hours later to an almighty smash as the window of the lounge room shattered into a thousand pieces.

Bella's eyes snapped open as she instinctively leaped to the side of the lounge. In her condition it was not as graceful as it might have been. She struggled to land on her side away from any damage to her son as she quickly withdrew her walnut wand.

Evidently she had been found.

Someone else might have hidden behind the lounge or tried to creep out one of the side doors, but that was not Bellatrix. Slower than she normally would have moved, she stood and faced whoever had dared enter her safe house.

She recognised him immediately. Younger than his brother by two years, with hair that was lighter and a pale face covered with attempts to grow stubble, Rabastan Lestrange stared at her.

He looked different compared to when she had last seen him. There was no merriment shinning in his eyes that were so different, yet so similar to his brother, his hair was cut short and his lips were twisted into a scowl.

"Bellatrix," he snarled and, without waiting he hissed, "Crucio!"

Bella was unaware what damage the Cruciatus Curse would do to an unborn child, but she had no desire to find out. Easily she batted the red light with a flourish of her wand causing it to reflect into one of the adjacent walls.

"Hello to you too Rab," she said with her usual cocky drawl as she clutched her wand tightly. "I wondered when I would see you."

She had been curious about Rabastan. She had read about Rodolphus' death in the Prophet and was more than a little surprised when it had not impacted her at all. The details were sketchy and minimal. It could have been anything from him dying by his own hand, or on a raid by the Dark Lord. She did not know, but when it occurred less than a week after her flight she was in no doubt it was linked.

In that case she suspected it would earn the family's ire. Rabastan and Rodolphus had always been close (closer than Bella had to both her sisters) so she was not at all surprised that the now solitary Lestrange brother was attempting to extract vengeance.

Despite his first onslaught, the second was slower. Blue eyes flicked hesitatingly over her pregnant stomach as she saw him swallow a lump in his throat.

"Unsure are you Rab?" she questioned ensuring she kept confident. It was half an act. Normally, she could have defeated him with ease, but she was not sure how long she could hold him off when she was pregnant or what impact being cursed would have on the Dark Lord's son. "Scared of a pregnant woman? Don't worry I understand why you would not want to hurt a future Lestrange."

"Don't lie!" he roared as another curse launched from his wand. Again she reflected it, her eyes like a hawk. "Rod told me everything. I know whose child you are carrying you whore. Don't think carrying the Dark Lord's heir will help you."

A part of her froze at the words. She was surprised Rodolphus' had admitted his failure to reign over his wife and that she was carrying the Dark Lord's son. It made her heart race with anger and panic as she shot off her first curse. Her Cruciatus Curse had better aim than Rabastan's but he deflected it only to send off another.

"You know nothing," she snarled as she cast a swift shield charm, "You think you know anything but you do not. You can't win."

"It does not mean I will not try," he screamed his face flushed as he barely ducked out of the way of two well placed slicing curses. "You killed my brother! Do you actually think I will forget that? I do this for him!"

So he was not sent by the Dark Lord, Bella thought as she sent forward more curses. The thought made her mood sky rocket as she continued to duel. It was difficult to admit but meeting the Dark Lord again was equally desired and feared.

The duel did not stop for ten minutes.

If she was in her normal state she would have been able to defeat her brother in law with ease, but she was not. Her stomach was bloated, her movements were uncertain and her stamina was low. The pain of standing was enough but to attempt to weave and dart was murderous.

She preferred to dance out of spells but she dared not attempt it now in case she misjudged and a curse struck her swollen stomach. It chilled her. She was scared what would happen to her son. The life she had nursed for eight months could be so easily extinguished.

It made her hesitate.

As several disarming spells left Rabastan's wand in quick succession, she made a fatal error. Half her body twisted out of the way, but, as the spell drew perilously close, she realised she would not escape them all. Instead she quickly tried to draw up her shield charm.

It failed.

The disarming spell hit her in the chest as her wand spun from her hand and she was thrown onto her back. She attempted to struggle to her feet, but a wand was pointed at her and two blue eyes stared down at her with determination.

Her own gaze was wider and more panic stricken than it had ever been as she rested on two shaky arms. "Rab..." she murmured softly her voice unusually filled with what could be called a plea. She had never confronted death or feared for the life of another as she did at this moment. "My son..."

His hand also shook. He was so very hesitant and it seemed to take all of Rabastan's determination to keep himself steady. His mouth opened but it quickly shut.

He was uncertain.

"Please," she said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

She thought he please were answered as his wand moved back but it was only to strike forward with another spell, "Stupefy!"


	6. The God's Kin

Re-entering the lounge room, Rabastan was shacking as he stared down at the unconscious and pregnant body of his sister in law. Her legs were sprawled on the carpet, her head was lolled to the side and one hand was resting protectively over her stomach.

He should have killed her. He knew that, but he had hesitated. He had thought about the child and he had thought about the woman he had been fond of.

At least there was something else he could do.

Stopping the levitation spell on the two muggle corpses, he dropped them carelessly to the ground. Trying to keep cool, he pulled out Bellatrix's wand and tossed it beside her.

After he had stunned her, he needed to do something. If he would not kill her, he would need to do something just as vengeful that would allow her unborn child to live.

This was a perfect solution.

Kneeling down beside Bellatrix, he grabbed the sleeve on her left arm and pulled it up to reveal the Dark Mark on her arm and the most obvious sign of her loyalty. If the dead muggles beside her and the memory on her wand issuing the Killing Curse were not enough, that would be.

She would be in Azkaban by morning. They would allow her child to live and she would die or go insane in the prison.

Then he could go on with his life. He would marry like Rod asked and he would produce the newest Lestrange. With Bellatrix away, everyone could forget the black blot on the Lestrange name and all would be right in the world.

It was right.

It had to be alright.

Finished convincing himself, he turned on his heel and left Bellatrix in the home.

Now, Rod could rest in peace.

* * *

When Bellatrix opened her eyes everything was different. The carpet she had been thrown onto was gone, the muggle room was gone and Rabastan was gone.

The only thing left was the cold.

She was laying on a piece of wood and old rotten blankets that smelt like piss and mildew. Her back kept rubbing against freezing stone and, through the gloom, she could identity a jail cell with thick wrought iron bars and walls littered in crude and dark carvings.

She had no idea how she could get here but she knew who had to have been responsible.

"Fucking Bastard," she cursed under her breath as she wrapped her arms around herself and her pregnant stomach. She might not have been killed, but imprisonment was almost as bad.

She could have cursed and swore at Rabastan for days, but those thoughts slipped away when she felt a presence pass over her. Her mind seized up and, before she could help herself, she thought of Rodolphus.

His face was taut with fury and his eyes were wide as he hissed desperately, "Do you not pay attention? He has already declared multiple times that he wants to be immortal. Do you think an immortal will want a child? He will only want it destroyed so it can never threaten him."

Her body shook at the memory as, in the conscious world, the Dementor glided by her cell and stopped rotating its hooded face towards her. All of the hesitations and worry that had filled her mind resurfaced.

"He will kill you and the child." The memory of Rodolphus proclaimed desperately as he pleaded with her.

Before she could help herself, Bellatrix screamed. It was loud, high pitched and desperate.

"No, Master, please! No, please Master!"

As she descended into her negative thoughts, the awful memories fell away replaced by even more devastating nightmares of the Dark Lord. She wrapped her arms around herself as she started to shake and sob.

* * *

After being sent to Azkaban for murdering muggles, it would be expected that someone would be left rotting in prison for the rest of their life. It would be expected, but Bellatrix had one asset; her son.

The entire Wizengamot was before her as she sat chained to a chair with her back straight like a queen with her pregnant stomach protruding slightly. She had not bothered denying her killing of the muggles. The evidence was against her and, to deny the fact she had killed muggles, would mean denying her other crime of her membership of the Death Eaters.

She could never betray her Lord in such a way.

So, she had pled guilty.

"In light of the charges against you the Wizengamot has given you the sentence of life in Azkaban," The old man woman proclaimed from the raised pillar seating. Bellatrix kept herself composed despite the prospect of returning to her horrifying cell. After all, she knew it was coming and she would not give them the satisfaction. "However, the Wizengamot has agreed that in light of your...condition you will be imprisoned within the Ministry holding cells with a Healer present until you give birth to your child."

Bellatrix was more relieved than she could explain, but she kept herself composed as the Dementors drew towards her. She ignored them and rose to her feet.

"The Dark Lord will triumphant!" she declared with passion and determination. "He will conquer your pitiful Ministry and you will all be punished as traitors! All of you! His power cannot be questioned and he will rule as he should!"

It was all she could say as the icy touch of the Dementors seized her.

It did not matter she had said enough. She hoped the Dark Lord read or heard her words.

* * *

While conditions in the holding cell were an improvement from Azkaban, they were not perfect. The food was bearable, she was free from Dementors and the chill was not permanent, but she was still trapped and, for a woman as wild and as free spirited as Bellatrix, that was torturous.

Still, she tried to cope.

At least her son would be fine. She had pleaded for her son to be raised by her parents who would at least do a good job of raising the boy, though her hopes were not high. Neither of her parents had visited and, if the rumours of her son's true parentage had spread, she knew her mother would never raise a bastard.

The nerves surged through her, and as she felt them, her body tightened, her abdomen hurt and pain surged through her as she felt movement within her. Before she could stop herself, she let out a moan and hugged her stomach tightly.

Her son was coming.

* * *

It was not comparable to the torture she had faced in her life, but it was excruciatingly painful as she laid panting and gasping in a bed at St Mungos. As soon as her contractions had started, she had been swept to St Mungos under heavy guard while the Healers handled her labour. They had been subject to screams and one now even suffered large scratch up and down her arms, but it was complete.

Her sons were born.

Eyeing the back of the white robed healer, her hands twitched nervously as she waited for her children. She had always known that her son would be a boy as it would be the will of the Dark Lord, but she had assumed she would have one son top carry on his line.

Not two.

The thought of carrying twins was ludicrous, though she obviously had. Never having known what pregnancy was like, she had never suspected anything and it had surprised her immensely that, after one child had exited her womb, she had been told to push until her second son entered the world.

"Give them to me," she murmured her voice hoarse from screaming as she stretched out her arms. "Give me my sons."

The back of the healer tensed, but she complied as she stepped towards her. Bellatrix could not remember holding a baby, but she tried to grip a son in each arm as securely as possible.

They were beautiful. Perhaps if they had not been her and the Dark Lord's children she might not have thought so, but, staring down at pink flesh with tuffs of black hair whose blood ran a mesh of hers and the Dark Lord's, she knew they were perfect.

She smiled for the first time in months as her fingers stretched out and gently stroked the faces of her sons.

Her and the Dark Lord's sons.

"They will be called Eltanin and Hydrus Black," she declared to the room of healers and guards despite the fact she had never been asked. "Hydrus Salazar Black," she said as she lifted the son with eyes that were bluer in her right arm and then the son in her left arm. "And he will be Eltanin Cygnus Black."

They were names her Lord could be proud of and they would go on to carry the Black name with fitting and powerful star names.

Her grin widened at the thought as she held her beautiful sons close towards her.

She almost forgot why she should have been worried.

"You will not keep them, Lestrange," A guard with a brutish face declared as he stepped towards her bed. Instinctively her grip on her sons tightened. "It is Azkaban for you and an orphanage for them."

"You can't!" she roared furiously before she could help herself. She tried standing on the other side of the bed, but, as she turned, she found another guard with a wand aimed at her. "I will not let your filthy blood traitor hands touch them."

"Mrs Lestrange-" The other guard this time a woman with a round face and brown hair began, yet she cut her off

"NO!" she screamed. "They are my sons! Mine!"

"Not anymore." The make guard sneered. "They won't ever remember you. They will go to a muggle orphanage where they will never have to face the taint of having a Death Eater scum for a mother. They will be happy and free."

She screamed and almost dropped her sons as she tried to lunge for the guard.

She was stopped as a stunner hit her in the back.

As she lay unconscious, her children were slid from her body and, as promised, taken to a muggle orphanage.

They were never raised as she desperately desired them to be.

* * *

**A/N: **Now was that expected? It may be a little cliché, but it is following the myth. We now only have one chapter to go.


End file.
